


i haven't touched a pretty thing in forty days

by WhatsATerrarium



Category: A Neon Darkness - Lauren Shippen, The Bright Sessions (Podcast)
Genre: Alcohol, Canon Compliant, Drinking, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Loneliness, Mild Sexual Content, Pre-TBS, Strippers & Strip Clubs, Touch-Starved, Trauma, post-AND
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-10
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-16 21:07:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29955891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhatsATerrarium/pseuds/WhatsATerrarium
Summary: Driving from coast to coast wasn’t something he’d planned. No, it was a crackpot idea that’d come to him after one too many sleepless nights. He’d needed something to clear his head, and driving aimlessly for as long as it took to feel better was maybe the least destructive one he’d had in the aftermath of all that had happened.*Marley meets someone interesting at a club in Boston.Spoilers for A Neon Darkness.
Relationships: Joan Bright/Jason Beck | Marley
Kudos: 7





	i haven't touched a pretty thing in forty days

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Robin_in_a_hoodie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Robin_in_a_hoodie/gifts).



> Happy birthday Robin!
> 
> You are absolutely amazing as a writer, an artist, and of course a friend. It's been over a year since we've known each other and that's insane. Thank you so much for being in my life and I hope that you will be for many more years to come.
> 
> Title is from "Everything is Alright" by The Glorious Sons.

Marley was dead to begin with… dead tired, that is.

It’s a stupid joke, especially considering he’s making it to no one but himself. Still, he lets out a slight chuckle as he walks in the door.

He’s unsure of how long his drive through Massachusetts had been. At some point the scenery around him had all blurred together into something never-ending and existing outside of time. He knows his legs had felt like jelly when he’d stepped out of the car. He knows that by the time he’d stopped driving the sky had already gone dark and the air had chilled significantly. He knows it’d been a while.

Maybe that’s why he could think of nothing but finding someplace to get a drink. He’s been trying to cut back on alcohol, he really has. But while this trip was supposed to be something freeing, something to help him clear his head and take stock, something to help him find his way again, he’s only ended up more lost than ever.

Driving from coast to coast wasn’t something he’d planned. No, it was a crackpot idea that’d come to him after one too many sleepless nights. He’d needed something to clear his head, and driving aimlessly for as long as it took to feel better was maybe the least destructive one he’d had in the aftermath of all that had happened.

He had said goodbye, of course. It would be cruel not to, given the state they were all in. Once the idea had come to him, at around five in the morning, he’d started packing. Gathering everything he’d need on the road. Indah had already been awake and he was certain Neon would have been too, but he wasn’t in the mood to be talked out of it. No, he waited until late afternoon. When everyone was up and going about their business in the apartment they still felt uncomfortable sharing. He’d left his room with a duffel bag of his belongings and a worn-down look on his face. Neon knew without him having to say it.

He’s grateful that Robert left that behind. That despite what he did to all of their mental healths, senses of self, and relationships, Neon’s ability to read him and to  _ know _ him hadn’t wavered. He’s not sure he could bear to lose that.

He’d driven for days, and he’d had fun. He’d eaten at new places, talked to new people, and seen new sights. But when he’d arrived in Boston, he felt… tired. No, weighed down. No....  _ uncertain. _ Yes, uncertain. He’d felt confused, conflicted, and directionless, and the only thing he could entirely decide upon was that he wanted a drink.

  
He still shares those sentiments.

It’d only taken a few minutes of driving after coming to this conclusion for him to find a place that looked like it could get him buzzed. 

And now that he’s walking through the door, it’s becoming immediately clear that the alcohol is not exactly this place’s main attraction. He’d be lying if he said the women up on poles and platforms didn’t… well, catch his eye. Still, he’s not here to spend money on exaggerated and artificial attention from likely exhausted and underpaid women. He’s here to get something to eat and to get mildly drunk. He makes his way to the bar and takes a seat at a barstool. He orders a drink and some fries. He tries not to let his eyes wander, which is easy enough considering he’s facing the bar.

The place is mostly empty. The few other customers here aren’t exactly here for the food and drink, so there’s no one else at the bar.

He orders a drink and sips it quietly, trying not to let his boredom kill him as he stares at the wall behind the bar. He’s halfway through an order of fries when he realizes that he may be failing in this effort.

It’s not that he’s even interested that much in the scene behind him. No, he’s always felt uncomfortable in strip clubs. Sure he appreciates the view, but he always feels like he’s  _ intruding _ on something.

The thing is that right now he feels alone, just as alone as he’s felt all day. And behind him there are  _ people _ . Living and breathing and laughing and talking and moving and feeling. And even if it’s not a scene he typically engages with, he can’t help but feel even more heartbreakingly isolated. There’s something about being just far enough away from a scene to be excluded from it but close enough to be painfully aware of it.

At his own curiosity, he turns in the barstool. There are a few poles in the room, with women dancing on them and tables and chairs surrounding them. There aren’t very many people there who appear to be patrons. A few tables are filled up, but for the most part it seems like a slow night. There are women walking around the crowd, talking with the customers, exchanging money, and… doing a bit more than talking.

For someone who gets to see so much of people’s lives without intending it, Jason does a lot of intentional people-watching as well. What’s intentional is only present, of course, he always tries not to look into people’s past if he can help it. And right now, while there isn’t much to watch, he lets his eyes wander anyways.

There’s something that always seems so inherently sad about watching other people be happy.

There’s a group of men that take up two tables, but who are clearly all together given the positioning of their chairs and the way they all shoot each other glances as they shout out and then laugh about things incomprehensible to him. There are a few women— employees— who are crowding around their tables. One appears to be making conversation with one of them, laughing at something that once again, he cannot hear.

It’s not that this is even something he’d like to partake in. It’s the idea that even if he wanted to, he couldn’t. He couldn’t bring himself to laugh like that, to be close to people like that, to live like that.

He manages to get through a few drinks before he notices a woman walking towards him.

Fuck. Was he staring?

She approaches the bar slowly and gives him a slight smile. “You look upset,” she observes quietly, leaning on the bar next to him.

“I…” that catches him off guard. 

She moves closer. Her shoulder brushes against his and she glances off in the same direction he’s looking in. “Not a very busy night,” she remarks calmly.

“No, doesn’t look like it,” he responds, taking a short sip from his bottle. He doesn’t make eye contact. He’s not entirely sure why.

“Do you want to talk?”

Her bluntness is causing him to practically stumble over his words. With it being so long since he’s had any proper interaction, this is almost refreshing. “I… Yes, sure.”

She raises an eyebrow, her slight smile still having not left her face since she’d approached him. “Do you want to talk somewhere more private?”

“I…Okay.” He doesn’t entirely know how to respond, so he just lets the words come out. He hadn’t been planning to make any… purchases… along that vein, what she’s suggesting. But he’s tipsy, he’s tired, she’s attractive, and she’s offering. Fuck it. He didn’t think that he would be this desperate for comfort, for closeness, but here he is. He’s expecting to be given a price, but instead she just takes him to a door in the back.

The room is dimly lit and much quieter than the main area. There’s a small loveseat against the wall and a coffee table next to it. She gestures towards it calmly and, more awkward than he’d ever like to admit to feeling, he goes to sit down. She climbs onto the couch after him, settling down over his lap comfortably. He leans back, watching her as she does.

“So…” she begins, hooking her arms around him, seemingly for stability as she adjusts herself. “What brings you here?”

“Pardon?” he asks, taking a moment to adjust to the feeling, understandably a bit distracted. Her skin is soft, her touch is warm, and that calm, curious smile is frankly a bit bewitching.

“You don’t exactly seem like you frequent this type of establishment, correct me if I’m wrong. First time?”

“Not… not my first time. I’ve been before just, well… not in a long time and never alone.” He clears his throat a bit awkwardly. “It is my first time in a uh, private room, though. But I mostly just came here for a drink, I didn’t really intend to...”

She nods a little, and he feels her place a hand gently on his chest. It feels nice. The touch of her skin is warm and comforting, and from just the contact they’re making now, he can feel the rest of him aching for more, wanting to let her comfort envelope him. Like a wave.

On the ocean.

He’s tried to avoid the ocean.

“Long day?” she asks quietly.

“I’ve been driving all day. I don’t know why I didn’t stop, I just…” He’s trying to find a way to articulate that somewhere along the way, he got tired of  _ stopping. _

“Where are you from?” she asks curiously, meeting his eyes. Her eyes are nice. They’re dark and… they’re calculative, but still kind. He wonders if her personality matches.

“LA.”   
  
“That’s a long drive. Is Boston your final destination?” She starts to move a bit, a few slight movements of the hips and chest that are presumably supposed to be for his benefit. Her body seems to be going through the motions, something he’s sure she does every day, just, well, likely a bit more intense with her other customers. The ones who don’t likely look and sound as though they’re teetering on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

Her curiosity seems genuine, though.

“No, I’m... not entirely sure what my final destination is. I just started driving one day.”

“Why’s that?”

He hesitates for a few seconds. It feels like an eternity.

He lets his eyes wander for a moment, taking her in. He exhales deeply and the words slip out before he even figures out what the answer is. “I thought it would make me feel something.”

“Has it?” she asks, moving in just a little closer.

“Not as much as I’d like,” he replies calmly.

He supposes he’s meant to feel something now. That’s why people come to these places, isn’t it? To feel something. She has one hand on his chest and the other arm wrapped around him. Her hips are moving rhythmically and he’s absolutely certain that he should be feeling something aside from gratefulness over the fact that someone is touching him all at.

He’d hugged his three roommates the day he left. Held each of them close to him for a moment, not saying anything.

That was the last time he’d had any semblance of human contact in a week. That’s not too long. Not long at all considering how long he’s gone on his own in the past. But in the months since Robert wreaked his havoc on their lives and left them to pick up the pieces, he hasn’t been able to feel things in the same way.

That’s what he wanted this trip to fix. He thought maybe if he kept driving, kept meeting people, seeing sights, eating food, listening to music,  _ living his life _ in as many different places as possible, something in him would snap back into place. All this past week has made him feel is more lonely.

He passes by thousands of people every day now. He passes through the lives of people in cities upon cities every day. Without end he watches people living their lives, being together and being  _ happy. _ And at the end of every day he’s left sleeping in his car alone, or worse yet, driving through the night, left with his own thoughts and ghosts to haunt him.

So he’s grateful to feel her touch now. He’s grateful for human contact in whatever form he can get it, and he’s grateful for this reminder that another person really can be this close to him. This sharp acknowledgement of the fact that he is not alone.

He reaches for his drink with one hand and doesn’t even realize that the other is moving until it is and one of his arms is wrapping around her bare waist gently.

“Is this okay?” he asks carefully.

She nods, giving him a slight but reassuring smile.

“What’s your name?”

She looks down at him for a few seconds, keeping with the motions she’d been going through, before widening her smirk a bit and responding. “Kat. What’s yours?”

“Jason. But my friends call me Marley.”

“Am I a friend?”

“I don’t know,” he responds instantly. He clears his throat. “Not to say that—“ he stammers out, before deciding to start over. “I just…” the words practically bubble up in his throat, almost trapped and loosened only by the drinks he’s had and his somewhat compromised position. Still, they come out with surprising ease given their weight. Given how desperately he’d tried to hide the fact from his friends and from himself. “I don’t know if I want to be Marley anymore.”

“So I should call you Jason?”

It’s not her words that make him blush, but the response that’s tumbling out of his mouth before he even takes a moment to think. “You can call me whatever you want.”

She smiles again. “Do you want to talk about it? Why you don’t want to be Marley anymore?”

“I think… we’re just different people. After everything that’s happened. And I think Marley needs to stay back in LA.”

“You don’t think you’re going back to LA?” she asks calmly, leaning into him just a little bit more. Once again, her touch and her presence bring him some form of relief. He wants to hug her. Would it be weird if he hugged her?

“I’m not sure. I’ve finished pre-law and now I’ve been looking at law schools and… I don’t know. LA was… special for me. So much of my life was there. But now there are bad memories and I’m… I’m not sure that I can have a life there anymore.” He waits a beat, his heart sinking a bit. “I think I need to move on.”

“I’m sorry,” she says sympathetically. She sinks down to level with him a little. Her movements are slowing and she hasn’t broken eye contact in a while. “Moving on is hard.”

He nods a little, unsure of how to respond. “Am I-- Am I allowed to touch you?” he asks carefully, overlooking the fact that one arm is already hooked around her.

“Yes,” she responds. She moves one of her hands downwards and places it on top of the hand on her waist.

It takes her replying for him to work out that that’s not the question he was trying to ask. “Are you… comfortable with--”   
  
“I am,” she hums reassuringly. “I’ll let you know if I get uncomfortable, okay?”

He nods. “Okay.” His free arm moves upwards, his forearm pressing against her shoulder blades. His hand brushes against her hair and he lets it linger. She doesn’t seem to mind.

“So you want to be a lawyer?”

“Yes,” he answers. “Are you a student?”

“Yes,” she nods. He feels the movement of her hand parallel the movement of his. One hand is snaking around the back of his head and brushing against the buzzed hair on the back of his head. It feels nice. “Graduate school, psychology. I want to be a therapist.”

Well, that certainly explains some things. “And is  _ this _ practice?”

“Maybe,” she smiles, running her fingers through his short hair. “You said you had bad memories in LA. Do you want to talk about that?”

He lets out a low exhale, combing a hand through the long dark strands of hair that fall just above the small of her back. “There was… there was this guy. He came into my friends and I’s life and… he  _ manipulated _ all of us. Messed with our thoughts and our feelings. Made us believe we wanted things we didn’t want. Made us  _ do  _ things we didn’t want.” He feels her hand move from the back to the side of his head, coming to rest on his cheek for a few seconds.

Her thumb brushes along the side of his face, caressing his chin. “How long ago was this?”

“This past fall. That’s when… he finally skipped town after…”

She doesn’t interject. Waits for him to sort his thoughts. She’s leaning closer into him still, but she’s stopped with the movements she’d been doing, now sitting still in his lap and running her hand through his hair. It’s calming.  _ She’s _ calming.

“He lived with us. Me and my closest friends he… coerced us into living together with him. We said yes, we gave up parts of our lives to just… to make it easier for him to manipulate us.”

“...And now you associate your home with the person who kept you there.” She finishes his statement for him quietly, sympathy practically dripping from her words as they leave her mouth.

Tears he hadn’t realized he’d been holding back are beginning to fall and though the music is loud and his voice is barely above a whisper as he says it, she seems to hear him shakily exhale “I’m starting to associate my friends with him too.”

Her hand is soft and her eyes are kind as she wipes a tear from his face, and that’s what pushes him over the edge. He starts sobbing. The simple act of affection he’s being shown is just one more cause for emotion, and he’s already experiencing an overwhelming amount of those.

She leans in just a bit further, bridging the incredibly small gap of space between them, wrapping her arms around his midsection and pulling him into a tight hug. Her hand is still on the back of his head, her fingers running through his buzzed hair as his tears start to flow more steadily. He hasn’t properly broken down to someone in a long time, and here is being provided with a shoulder to cry on.

He tries to pull her in closer, even if he’s not sure that’s physically possible at this point, he tries. Their arms are wrapped tightly around each other and he’s leaning his face into the crook of her neck. Her hand is running through his hair and he’s crying. He didn’t think he even had this many tears left in him. Not after he’s spent nearly every night sleepless and sobbing for what’s nearly been a year now.

He knows this isn’t healthy. He knows that things should have healed over by now. But how could they when he still hasn’t brought himself to move out of that apartment. How could they when every day, he pretends to return to what is really just a painful reminder of an unachievable status quo, and he does so with the people he loves more than anything else in this life. The people he can never fully bring himself to look in the eye.

“I’m afraid,” he mutters uncertainly through his tears.

“Of what?” she asks calmly, pulling away very slightly, her arms still wrapped around him, holding him close to her.

“My friends,” he answers instantly, trying to clear his throat as he moves his hands to wipe the few remaining tears from his eyes. “I’m… afraid that our relationship is never going to be the same again.”   
  
“That’s… an understandable concern,” she reassures him as she takes his hands, which are only just pulling away from his face.

“And then there’s…” Phrasing, Marley. Don’t say anything too suspicious. “When we’re together sometimes I just feel afraid because… it’s so similar to how it was back when… and… sometimes for a second I just think… I think that he’s still there. That he’s manipulating us. That we’re only doing something because he’s letting us, that we’re only feeling something because he wants us to feel it, that we’re only  _ friends _ because of him and I know that’s not true but--” he barely realizes he’d been talking so fast until he has to stop to take a breath.

“...But you can’t help it.”

“No, I… I can’t, I’ve tried.”

“It’s a trauma response, Jason. That type of fear… intrusive thoughts, emotional withdrawal. Have you seen a therapist?”   
  
“Does this count?” he half-laughs.   
  
“An  _ actual  _ therapist? One who has a degree and whose workplace doesn’t have poles.”

“No,” he answers, suddenly feeling self-conscious at the seriousness in her tone. He doesn’t think he’ll ever go to therapy. “I… therapy’s expensive,” he mumbles, making an excuse for the fact that there are some things,  _ important things _ about what had happened that he could never tell any therapist.

“I’m sorry,” she hums. She meets his eyes again, her fingers woven between his. “Do you want my advice?” Her tone shifts. Quiet and soft. She’s being gentle with him, with  _ what she’s about to tell him. _

He nods.

“I think moving on is hard.”

He nods again.

“I think it’s harder when you’re surrounded by reminders.”

And there it is. Someone else confirming for him what he’s spent months trying to convince himself he’s wrong about. He can’t stay in LA.

“Sometimes… shared trauma can bring people closer together. Sometimes their minds allow them to heal together. But sometimes…”

The alcohol is dulling his senses a little, and he’s sure she’s trying to repress whatever it is she’s feeling, trying to keep the emotion from growing too strong, but…

He sees a flash of something. There’s another one of her in the room. She’s wearing sweatpants, a fitted red sweater, and glasses. Her hair is a bit shorter than it is now and she’s holding a phone to her ear. She doesn’t look much younger, at all, if it weren’t for the hair and the wardrobe she’d be identical to the version of her in his lap.

“You said you’d be back by Christmas. I… No, I know you’re with your friends, I just… No, I get it.” She looks… not frustrated, just sad. She’s trying to hide it though. Trying to make her voice calm and chipper to spare the feelings of whoever she’s talking to. “Just try to call tomorrow, okay? Have fun.”

Kat—  _ the real one— _ she seems distant, like she’s trying to shake a thought from her head. Likely the same thought he’s seeing play out before him. He feels this spike of hatred towards himself.  _ He shouldn’t be seeing this. _ He lets go of her hand, reaches for the bottle on the table beside him, and takes a drink. He goes through the motions quicker than he realizes and nearly chokes on the beer as it enters his throat. Still, he keeps his mouth pressed firmly closed and pushes it back forcefully, ignoring the slight ache the speed and volume of the drink he’d taken causes.

If alcohol is good at one thing, it’s disorienting him. It’s good at making the ghosts go away.

That seems to snap her out of whatever state she’d been in. “I’m… I’m sorry. I’ve… had a long day too,” she says, giving him an apologetic smile. She’s not meeting his eyes anymore, she’s looking away. “But sometimes… Sometimes you need room to grow. That doesn’t have to mean that you love the people in your life any less, just that you need to break an association. Sometimes after enduring something traumatic with a person they become something you associate with it, they can become a part of that trauma. And too much exposure to any sort of reminder before you’re ready is only going to hinder progress in healing and likely only worsen your mental condition.” Her voice grows more removed and less emotional with every word she says. Her tone gets colder and she begins speaking faster, still avoiding eye contact and, judging by the slight cracks in her voice, it’s because she’s trying to hide her own tears.

He lets go of her other hand and reaches up, cupping her face in his hand and turning it towards him. He wipes away the stray tear that’s running down her cheek from the pool of them building up in her eyes. Her hands move towards her face too, but she’s less gentle, wiping away at the building tears with her balled up fists. He draws his hand away and instead wraps his arms around her, pulling her tightly into a hug once again. She melts into him for a moment, burying her head into his chest. She doesn’t cry; he doesn’t feel the tears on his shirt. She just takes deep breaths. Breathing in and out against his chest while he holds her.

“I’m sorry,” he hears her say, the sound is muffled against him, but he can still make it out. She pulls her face away slowly, finally meeting his eyes again. “This is… I’m assuming not what you came here for.”   
  
“I told you, I came here for a drink. I got that and… an interesting conversation.”   
  
“Right, well… thank you, for…”   
  
“Thank you,” he nods, returning the thanks. “For the advice and… everything.”

He did get exactly what he came here for, didn’t he?

She’s climbing off of him carefully, giving him a polite smile.

“Oh, um,” he begins awkwardly, reaching for his wallet in his back pocket. “How much do I—”   
  
“On the house. Save that money for finding yourself a good therapist,” she smirks, face still red and puffy.

He’s already got his wallet open, looking through it. “No, I’ll feel bad if I--”

“Jason...” she begins, her voice soft but firm. “Please don’t.”

“Why?”

She takes a deep breath. “Because I want to get a drink with you and frankly I think it might be a bit weird to if you’re… you know, technically a customer. So if you really insist on wasting that money on me, you can buy me a drink.” She gestures to the arm he wears his watch on. “My shift ended five minutes ago.”

“Yeah, I… Yeah, I will,” his voice starts out a bit shaky, but by the end he’s smiling. Now that the two are further in proximity, some of the initial blur brought forth by their… circumstance… is fading, something seems strangely sobering about her standing up. About the offer of more time together, more comfort, more company, more conversation.

He’s spent so long depriving himself of human interaction that in his mind, he’s already filed these past few minutes with her away as an outlier. Already separated them in his mind as an isolated incident. Already prepared himself to move on.

The idea of this continuing in any form is jarring, but in the best way possible.

He came here to feel something. Something besides dread and uncertainty and  _ loneliness. _ So he did get what he came for, didn’t he?

“I’m going to go change, meet me back by the door?”

“Yeah,” he says. He says it again, regaining his cool. “Yeah, okay.”   
  
She turns towards the door, reaching it before stopping and turning back to him. “Oh, and my name’s Joan.”

“Joan,” he repeats. It’s a nice name.

She smiles at him and opens the door, briefly letting in the bright lights and the noise from outside. She closes it behind her when she exits, leaving him alone.   
  
“It’s a nice name,” he whispers, voicing his thoughts to the air around him.

It is a nice name. As nice a name as Jason, as Sarah, as Alex.

He tries not to think about that. Tries to push that initial thought from his mind. It’s not like he’d believed Kat was her real name, it’s not like it wouldn’t make  _ sense _ for her to have given him a fake one initially. But he can’t help but be reminded of the names he and his friends have hidden behind.

The name Robert is now hiding behind.

The name he thinks he’s done hiding behind.

He meant what he told her. That he doesn’t want to be Marley anymore. He wants to be Jason Beck, and he’s glad that Jason Beck is the man that she’s taking out to drink.

He follows in her footsteps, opening the door and taking a step out. The music and the lights are a bit disorienting, but he takes a deep breath and keeps walking. There are good things ahead.

Good things with nice names.

**Author's Note:**

> So a big reason why I don't usually leave comments is that it doesn’t feel like a conversation, it feels too definite. So, as opposed to asking you to leave comments (which I do still very much appreciate and will respond to if that’s your thing), I’m going to let you know how to contact me!
> 
> Instagram: whats_a_terrarium  
> Discord: whats_a_terrarium#0251  
> Tumblr: whats-a-terrarium  
> Twitter: whatsaterrarium
> 
> If you have any thoughts, ideas, constructive criticism, or just want to ramble, never hesitate! :)


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